


Legacy of the Exile

by Induurisa



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And it's not clicking with me anymore, Apologies, Drama, F/M, Life is Busy, Romance, Work In Progress, on semi-permanent hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-02 00:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15785508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Induurisa/pseuds/Induurisa
Summary: It's been a few months since the events of Malachor V, and the reconstruction of the Jedi Order is underway. However, the knowledge of an unknown threat looming at the edge of galaxy is still haunting the Exile, and she knows that she will have to act soon. Reuniting with old and new allies alike, the Exile must track Revan's path and find the courage to follow.





	1. Cleaning Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically my attempt at reconciling my interpretation of the Exile with the old canon, while writing some self-indulgent angst, fluff, and romance to boot. Anyways, enjoy! Or don't. Whatever floats your boat. I'm not forcing you to read this.

It had been too long since the Exile had drawn her lightsaber against a foe. The feeling of the subtle, humming vibrations against her palms as the hilt powered the twin silver blades. The rush as she swung, balancing her form as she ducked her enemy’s blow while simultaneously slashing a wide arc through the knees of her opponent. The residual adrenaline in her system as she stood over the fallen Duros. He hadn’t put up much of a fight, all things considered. He and the last of the Zhug “brothers” that the Exile had encountered first on Nar Shaddaa when G0-T0 had put that bounty on her head were weak after having the majority of their members wiped out by the Exile while on G0-T0’s ship, and this last battle sent the few survivors fleeing back into the depths of the Hutt-controlled planet.

“That was easy,” Atton said at her side, deactivating his twin bronze blades and replacing them both at his belt. The Exile nodded, catching her breath.

“Easy, yes. At least there was some semblance of a workout, though. I’ve been going crazy being stuck in the _Hawk_ for so long without doing anything,” she said, and deactivated her own blade, clipping it to her belt. Atton and the Exile had gone alone to Nar Shaddaa to tie up loose ends with the remnants of the gangs there, many of which had still held a grudge against Jedi for their defeats. They were posing a threat to the stability of both the New Jedi Order and the Republic as they lashed out in fear, raiding Republic shipments to the Enclave on Dantooine, which ensured their demise.

“No kidding. That’s the last of them. We gonna clean this up on our own or leave it to the locals?” Atton asked, kicking the foot of a fallen gang member. The Exile glared at him, and he spread his hands in a show of innocence. “What? People die here all the time. The looters grab the gear, and the bodies are disposed of. Why waste time? Besides, it’s not like we went to a whole lot of trouble to clean up after ourselves the first time we came here together.”

“Atton, we’re taking care of the bodies this time,” the Exile said, sighing. “Now help me out.” The Exile concentrated, closing her eyes for a moment before reopening them and aiming an open hand at a pile of bodies. They rose into the air, and she let them tail behind her as she started to make her way back to the landing platform where the _Ebon Hawk_ was situated.

“Aw, no. We’re taking them aboard my ship?” Atton said incredulously, earning another glare from the Exile. “Uh… _our_ ship?”

“It’s the easiest way. We’ll send them out the airlock in the upper atmosphere, and they’ll be incinerated upon reentry,” the Exile said, watching over her shoulder as Atton shook his head, but assisted in collecting the rest of the Zhug gang bodies and lifting them with the Force. He was getting much better. Where previously he would have struggled with the task of lifting a good seven bodies and having them all follow along behind him, he now completed the task with little effort. He jogged a few steps to walk in time beside the Exile, and it was a morbid scene as the two of them made their leisurely way back to the ship with two floating piles of dead bodies trailing behind them. It was a good thing the streets of Nar Shaddaa were mostly empty after the battle.

They dumped the bodies inside the cargo hold when they entered the _Hawk_ and then reconvened in the cockpit, where Atton dusted off his hands on his jacket before grabbing the controls.

“Ready to leave this pile of _osik_ behind?” He asked, smirking at the Exile seated beside him.

“More than ready, as usual,” she said, relaxing into the copilot’s seat. Atton nodded curtly and kicked the _Ebon Hawk_ into gear, lifting off from the dingy landing pad.

“Let’s go dump some bodies!” Atton said, mock-cheerily. He maneuvered the ship through the crowded, smog-filled sky, and when they could begin to see the curve of the planet, Atton punched the airlock button to release the bodies in the hold out into the upper atmosphere. “There. Some kid will be wishing upon some ‘shooting stars’ tonight, I’ll bet. Little do they know…” The Exile couldn’t help but chuckle a bit. Morbid humor. These days, it was the norm.

“Set a course for Coruscant,” the Exile commanded, once Atton had closed the airlock once more.

“We meeting with the legendary Bastila Shan, finally?” Atton asked, raising an eyebrow. “When did she finally decide to return your holocalls?”

“She didn’t. Carth contacted me and told me that she was in the area, so I’m going to see her whether she likes it or not,” the Exile said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Oh, so that’s how it is. I see. You two… knew each other? Back when you were both Padawans, or whatever?” Atton asked, setting the coordinates for the jump to hyperspace.

“I was a little older than her, but yes. We were even friends, once. That changed quickly when Bastila’s battle meditation ability manifested, and the Masters started to favor her above the others. It wouldn’t have been a problem for me—we needed her ability—but she was proud, and seemed to see herself as infallible before the rest of us. It drove a wedge between us, and that gap was only exacerbated when I left to join the Mandalorian Wars, and she stayed behind. So many lives would have been saved if she had come with Revan and me. And perhaps the Jedi Civil War would not have occurred... But there’s no use dealing in what-ifs now,” the Exile explained, rubbing her upper arm uncomfortably. Seeing Bastila again, after all these years… It would be different. The last time they had spoken had been before the Mandalorian Wars.

“Sounds like you two have a lot of baggage,” Atton said, and activated the hyperdrive. There was a lurch as the _Ebon Hawk_ jumped into hyperspace, the cockpit window awash with streams of blue and white light.

“Something like that,” the Exile murmured, settling back in her seat again. Just thinking about Bastila again had made her tense up. Atton gave a low hum in acknowledgement as he sat back in his seat, letting the ship glide through hyperspace. The Exile took a deep breath, searching her mind for a topic to change the subject. There would be more than enough talk of Bastila once they reached Coruscant—best to avoid the topic until it became unavoidable, in this case. “You’re getting stronger in the Force. And I see you’ve been practicing,” the Exile said, looking over at Atton, who swiveled his chair around to face her with a smug grin on his face.

“I was wondering if you’d notice. I _have_ been practicing, thank you very much. Now I’ve perfected the art of moving dead bodies without having to touch them. Very convenient,” he said, slouching back in his seat and crossing his ankles.

“Oh, goody,” the Exile said, shaking her head, but smiling. “But in all seriousness—well done. I know this hasn’t exactly been easy for you.”

“No. But I feel better about it every day. Before, all I could do to help you was maybe serve as something to soak up stray blaster bolts. Now I can actually protect you, if things really go to hell. Not that you _need_ protecting, of course. You could kick my ass in a heartbeat, I know. But just in case, you understand,” Atton said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

“I understand, yes. And I’m always glad to have you at my side, Atton. It… it means a lot,” the Exile said. “Especially after everything.”

“After everything, it just makes me want to stay by your side more. I mean, the whole situation with Kreia? Or Darth Traya, or whatever she called herself in the end… I’m glad I could be there for you. With you, I feel like I have a purpose again,” Atton said, looking away. He glanced down at his lap, chuckling. “Look, now you’re making me get all soft and mushy.” The Exile reached forward, taking one of Atton’s hands in hers, and squeezed it gently.

“Soft and mushy is fine. Just don’t let Mira see it, because she’ll dangle it over both our heads for weeks,” she said, brushing her thumb over Atton’s gloved knuckles.

“Boy, do I know it,” Atton scoffed, and met the Exile’s eyes. “Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

“You’re welcome,” the Exile said, and leaned forward further, giving Atton a brief kiss on the cheek. “But just remember, if you act like you did back on Nar Shaddaa all that time ago again, I’ll punch you in your pretty face again.” Atton flushed red as the Exile pulled back again, letting her hand slide from his for a moment before he caught it once more.

“Hold on, you think I’m pretty?” He asked, smirking.

“Don’t push it, flyboy,” the Exile said coyly, and Atton let her hand go.

“Alright, alright,” he said, putting his hands in the air. “I’ll take pretty for now.”

“Good.”

 


	2. Whiskey and Eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atton and the Exile have a heart-to-heart, and then some, on the way to Coruscant. Whether this will end well remains to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some self-indulgent fluff, along with some substance for good measure.

It was a long flight through hyperspace to the Core Worlds, and to Coruscant. The Exile and Atton filled the time with conversation, halfhearted games of Pazaak (Republic Senate rules), and the occasional holocall check-in with the rest of the old crew on Dantooine, where they were busy restoring the Enclave and training the first members of the New Jedi Order. The Exile hadn’t heard back from Carth in some time, and she was starting to worry, until the comm started blaring in the middle of the night cycle.

Groaning as she dragged her stiff form out of the bunk in the starboard dormitories of the _Hawk,_ the Exile trudged into the main hold, where she accepted the call. Atton’s snores could be heard from the cockpit, where he had decided to spend the night, even though he was free to a bunk.

“Carth? What is it? Is everything still in order?” The Exile asked as Admiral Carth Onasi’s image flickered to life on the central holoterminal.

“Exile. It’s good to see you. I just wanted to let you know that Bastila is still here on Coruscant, but you’ll have to be quick once you arrive to catch her. She’s taking a shuttle to Jedha tomorrow morning. She almost didn’t tell me, so it’s got to be some sort of Jedi matter,” Carth said, worry lines etched in his face.

“Jedha?” the Exile shifted her weight onto one foot, bringing a hand to her face in thought. Jedha was known for being a prime spot for young Jedi to find Kyber crystals, but the mines had been bombed in the Jedi Civil War, and the planet all but abandoned except for the dregs of the galaxy, who scavenged what they could from old Jedi temples.

“Right. You’re still scheduled to arrive in ten hours’ time, correct?” Carth asked.

“That’s right, Admiral,” Atton’s voice startled the Exile, causing her to jump back and bring her hand to her belt, where her lightsaber was absent from her side due to her just waking up. Atton’s hand on her shoulder quieted her reflexes, and she relaxed in the same amount of time in which she had initially sprung to action.

“You must be Atton Rand,” Carth said, nodding to him.

“The one and only,” Atton said, shrugging. Carth seemed to narrow his eyes, as if something about Atton rang familiar, but the expression was swiftly replaced by Carth’s usual, practiced stoicism.

“I see. Good to meet you, son. I’ve heard good things about you from your friend here,” Carth said, gesturing to the Exile. “Anyways, I have a meeting with the Republic Senate in an hour, and I have to finalize my speech. Politics,” Carth spat the last word, his face wrinkling in disgust. “Never cared much for it.”

“Me, neither,” the Exile said, giving a sympathetic smile. “Good luck with that speech, Admiral. We’ll see you in ten hours.”

“May the Force be with you,” Carth gave a final nod before disconnecting his comm. Atton took his hand from the Exile’s shoulder and turned to face her.

“Jedha? I’ve never heard of that place, and I’ve been around,” he said.

“An old Jedi haunt. Remember the crystal caves on Dantooine? Think that, but more arid, more red, and more empty. There used to be several temples there before the Jedi Civil War decimated them. I’m surprised you never heard about it,” the Exile said. Atton shrugged.

“It’s a big galaxy. Besides, my job then was pretty… single-minded. We didn’t focus on old Jedi trinkets and crystals and whatnot. Only the Jedi themselves,” he said, clearing his throat to deflect the moment. They had discussed his past more since he first spoke about it on Nar Shaddaa, but it was always a difficult topic for both of them.

“I see,” the Exile said. “I wonder why Bastila is going there, though. It’s not exactly like much was left behind that wasn’t blown up or looted.”

“Looks like we’ll have to ask her for ourselves when we meet her on Coruscant. Providing she doesn’t take an earlier shuttle,” Atton said. “I don't know about you, but I can’t go back to sleep, and I’m kind of hungry. Want me to make you something?”

“Since when can you cook?” The Exile asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh… since I was a kid, actually.”

“And you never offered to cook something before now because…?” The Exile asked, scowling. “Cooked meals would have been welcome from the usual ration bars.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I was a good cook! I just asked if you wanted me to make you something. I can make about two dishes. And I don’t even know if we have the right ingredients for either,” Atton said defensively. “And besides, you never asked.”

“Screw you,” the Exile said, elbowing Atton in the ribs as he walked by.

“Ow. Rude. So I’ll take it that you _do_ want something to eat, then?” He asked, strolling into the communications room, where the _Hawk_ had a measly kitchenette installed on the wall just beside the door. The Exile followed, curious.

“Depends.”

“Hm. Okay. Well, we have eggs, so I guess I’ll be making eggs,” Atton said, lifting a battered carton of a dozen eggs from the mini fridge and opening it on the counter. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Uh… when was the last time someone checked this thing?” He asked, dropping four cracked, rotten eggs into the waste disposal.

“You can make eggs, and what else? You said you could make two things,” the Exile said. “Even I can make eggs.”

“I can make eggs, and I can make a mean bowl of Alderaanian pasta,” Atton said, smiling proudly. “The only two meals anyone could ever need, besides ration bars, of course.”

“Of course,” the Exile muttered. “And I’m guessing our pantry isn’t stocked with the ingredients for your pasta dish.”

“That would be a resounding _no._ We have these orobird eggs, which Mical probably bought, because I don’t know anyone else who would eat these things, and we have some Corellian whiskey, which _I_ bought, because… well, because,” Atton said, and placed a pan on the the single stove burner in the kitchenette.

“Nothing like an early breakfast of eggs and whiskey,” the Exile said, and took a seat at the ship security console, swiveling the chair around in gentle arcs as she watched Atton’s backside as he worked. _And not a bad view, at that,_ she thought, smiling to herself.

“You bet,” Atton said, cracking a few of the remaining eggs into the pan, and the Exile believed for a moment that he had picked up her stray thought, before realizing that he must have been responding to her previous, out-loud statement. It was fine. “Admiring the view?”

“What?” The Exile choked out, the spinning of the chair stopping abruptly.

“Oh, c’mon! You were the one who taught me to be so receptive to surface thoughts, and you weren’t exactly subtle just now,” Atton said over his shoulder. The Exile could see that characteristic shit-eating grin on his face. She pursed her lips.

“Hmph,” she huffed, finally, and Atton chuckled.

“I know. Infuriating, isn’t it?”

“ _You’re_ certainly infuriating,” the Exile said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I think you mean _positively endearing,”_ Atton said in a sing-song voice as the eggs started to sizzle. “I hope you like your eggs scrambled, because that’s what you’re getting.”

“Scrambled is my favorite,” the Exile said.

“Perfect,” Atton replied, and there was silence for a few moments, save for the sound of the eggs and the small spatula Atton wielded against them, clanking against the side of the pan as he shuffled the eggs around. “So… are we simply going to brush over the fact that you find me attractive?”

“Oh, knock it off!” the Exile said, sighing and waving her hand. Atton felt a nudge as the light Force-push bumped against his shoulder.

“ ‘Knock it off,’ she says… Oh, please. If it makes you feel better, I find you attractive, too,” he said, and slid off two portions of eggs onto two separate plates.

“Yeah, well, that’s not exactly a secret. You weren’t exactly subtle back on Peragus, you know,” the Exile said. Atton approached with the plated eggs and two grimy-looking forks, offering a plate and fork to the Exile before sitting in the seat adjacent to hers.

“True enough,” he said, shoveling a helping of eggs into his mouth. “But back to the matter at hand. We’ve never really established if we’re a… y’ know. Thing. Or not.”

“What, you want to go on romantic dates to Naboo now, or something?” The Exile scoffed, picking at the eggs on her plate for a moment before delicately stabbing a cluster and popping it into her mouth, chewing carefully. Not half bad.

“Well, I’m not saying no to that. But I just thought we should discuss it. Frankly, I’m surprised _you_ haven’t been the one to bring it up. I thought the Jedi were supposed to be anti-attachment. And even _I_ can tell that you’re obviously attached to me,” Atton said, waving his fork as he spoke.

“Technically, yes, Jedi aren’t supposed to have strong emotional attachments. I’ve never really agreed with the Jedi teachings on that one. Probably another reason why Vrook wanted me exiled so badly in the first place,” the Exile muttered. “Look, Atton. I like you. You know that. I might even love you. But…”

“I knew that was coming,” Atton groaned, tilting his head back.

“But I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, and lowered her fork. Kreia’s words echoed in her mind.

_I do know that you must leave him behind. The same choice that Revan made: where you are destined, you must not take anyone you love._

Atton sputtered.

“ _Hurt_ me? How could you hurt me? Besides punching me, stabbing me, or otherwise physically harming me?” Atton asked, pausing in between bites of his food. The Exile sighed, and put her half-eaten eggs on the console before her, condensation forming on the glass panel beneath the warm plate. She hadn’t discussed her last encounter with Kreia at Malachor in detail with anyone. Maybe it was time to start.

“Because I’m going to have to go,” she said, her stomach twisting.

“Go? Go where? You’ve said yourself that we’ve got our work cut out for us with the Enclave and reestablishing the Order. And now you want to take a vacation?” Atton asked, bewildered. _God damn you, Atton. You’re as dense as durasteel sometimes._

“I have to follow Revan into the Unknown Regions, alone. Back on Malachor, Kreia told me. And I can’t take anyone—” The exile hesitated. “I can’t take anyone I love. So it’s easier if we just keep things the way they are, alright? Nothing serious.”

“You’ve got to be joking. You’re going to do what that old hag told you to do when she was in her death throes? You believed what she said? You don’t have to do what Revan did. You didn’t do it after the Mando Wars, and you don’t have to do it now,” Atton said, setting his own (empty) plate aside.

“You don’t understand. Atton, Kreia never lied to me. And she didn’t lie to me there on Malachor V. When she said what I had to do, I knew as she spoke that what she said is what the Force wills it to be, and thus what I must do. It’s my destiny,” she said, shaking her head.

“Screw destiny! It’s your choice,” Atton exclaimed. “I get that the Force must influence things a little, but you still have free will!”

“If I don’t go, I’ll be putting my own interests above those of the _entire galaxy._ Billions upon billions of innocent lives. I can’t live with that kind of guilt, alright? It’s hard enough as it is,” the Exile said, her voice rising in volume. “I can’t, and I won’t.” Atton opened his mouth to shout a reply, but then clamped it shut when he saw the distress on the Exile’s face. “Understand now?”

“I… yeah. Mostly. I get why you have to go, but not the part where you have to go alone, without backup. That’s a recipe for disaster,” Atton said, his voice more subdued this time.

“Because if something does happen, you couldn’t be used against me, and I couldn’t be used against you,” she said quietly. “Resisting torture is easy when the only one at risk is yourself. There’s only so much that can be done. But if they have the power to hurt your friends? If they threatened to hurt the ones I love, there is nothing I would not do to protect them.” The Exile felt hollow as she spoke. And it was true. Whatever it took to keep Atton—and the rest of her friends back on Dantooine—safe, she would do. Especially with how deeply she had connected with them through the Force-bonds that had been created. They were more like family than friends. _Vrook would definitely not approve,_ she thought to herself.

“Hm,” Atton mumbled, slumping in his seat. The Exile watched his face as he puzzled over her words, weighing them. “If you really have to go, whenever that has to happen… why not enjoy the company of your friends while you can, then? Sure, leaving people you love behind is never fun, but aren’t the experiences you can have while they’re still around worth having before they’re over?”

“Perhaps,” the Exile said, shrugging. “Or it could just make it more painful when they’re gone.” Atton sat up in his seat, leaning forward a bit and offering his open palm. She placed her hand in his, somewhat reluctantly, and he squeezed it gently, smiling.

“Something tells me you believe otherwise,” he said softly. The Exile stared into his eyes, and something just seemed to _click_ in her mind and heart as the rest of the world melted away. She was with the man she loved, here and now, and neither the past nor the future could take this moment away from her. The teachings of the Jedi hovered at the edge of her mind, their warnings against love and emotional attachments echoing into the void. Atton was right. Now that she had come clean with him (mostly) about what she would have to do, they could make the most of this while it lasted. And when the Exile leaned in to kiss Atton on the lips, there was a rightness in the act—something she hadn’t felt for a long time.

Atton seemed a little surprised when their lips met, but once she had initiated the contact, he eagerly kissed her in return, using his free hand to cup her face as her lips moved against his. They had kissed before—simple, chaste kisses that were always more like flirting than anything more concrete—this was different.

“So, does that mean that you agree, or what?” Atton asked, gasping as they parted for a moment to catch their breath. The Exile smiled, looking down at her lap, where Atton was still holding her hand.

“What do you think, flyboy?” Her voice had an edge to it that Atton had never heard before, and _kriff him_ if it didn’t send shivers up his spine.

“I think…” Atton began, scooting to the edge of his seat to bump knees with her, even as he pressed a sloppy kiss to her lips, “that you don’t appreciate the time and effort that went into making those eggs for you. You didn’t even finish them.” He grinned against her lips, even as she chuckled into his mouth when they kissed again.

“Sorry. But didn’t you say that there was some whiskey in the fridge, too? I'm saving room for that,” the Exile said. Atton drew back, wetting his lips and tilting his head to the side.

“I could get on board with that,” he said, and gave the Exile one more hand-squeeze before getting up to pour a couple shots of the Corellian whiskey. “Just a little, alright?”

“A little? I’m surprised you’re so conservative, especially since you’re the one who bought it,” the Exile smiled, reaching out her hand to take the glass he offered as he sat back down beside her. He shrugged, and then downed the entire glass in one gulp.

“Being with you is enough to get me more than a little buzzed,” he said, smacking his lips and clanking his glass down on the console.

“Likewise, Atton Rand,” the Exile raised her glass in a mock toast before also emptying her glass in one go. Atton raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Now take off that stupid jacket.”

“Whoa, now. First, my jacket isn’t stupid. Second, you’re rather forward all of a sudden, and I still don’t think you appreciate my cooking enough to—” Atton was cut off as the Exile kissed him hard on the lips, even as she struggled to disentangle his arms from his jacket. The kiss deepened as she finally slipped it from his shoulders and deftly moved from her seat by the communications console to Atton’s lap. The Exile wrapped her arms around his neck as their tongues moved messily against each other in their mouths, as Atton’s hands tugged off her outer robe, and as they both closed their eyes and felt each other through the Force, and there was so much _life_ , so much _love_ , and the currents were almost overwhelming as they overlapped and grew stronger and stronger…

“You wanna move this someplace more comfortable?” Atto mumbled between kisses. The Exile pulled back slightly, still close enough to Atton’s face to feel his breath against her lips. _Kriff_ , it just felt so right.

“Force, yes,” she said, and grinned before pecking him on the nose playfully. Atton rested the tip of his tongue against his upper teeth for a moment, staring into her eyes, before lunging forward and scooping the Exile into his arms, hefting her over his shoulder as she laughed in surprise.

“It has been way too long since I’ve heard you laugh like that,” Atton said as he carried her awkwardly to the bunks furthest away from Kreia’s old space. What a turn-off that would be. Atton swore he could still sometimes feel the old witch’s blind eyes boring into the back of his skull whenever he was in that room.

“This is hardly the most romantic way to hold someone,” the Exile said over Atton’s shoulder.

“Hey, give me a break. I might be stunningly attractive and popular with the ladies, but that doesn’t mean I know much about romance,” he said, and set her down on a bunk.

“Really? You seem to spout otherwise when in the presence of our other friends,” the Exile said, and started to take off her clothes in front of Atton, who gawked for a moment before remembering how to speak.

“Don't ruin the moment by bringing them into this,” he finally said. _Space, she was beautiful. Had she done this before? It seemed like it. What did Jedi even learn about this stuff? Was there some sort of weird ‘Jedi Sex Ed’ class?_ Atton’s thoughts turned to mush as the Exile soon sat near-naked before him, bringing back potent memories of their first meeting on Peragus. “Nice outfit,” he said in the same lazy drawl with which he had initially greeted her back then. The Exile flushed red.

“Yeah, well. You need a few wardrobe adjustments,” she teased back, and kicked him softly in the shin with her bare foot. Atton grinned, proceeding to take off his shirt and gloves and toss them on top of the Exile’s pile of clothing. He was about to start undoing his belt before she stopped him.

“Let me,” she said, and started to unbuckle the clasps as she sat before him.

“Y’know, I used to dream about this all the time,” he said, watching her as she dropped his belt to the floor and started on his pants. It was obvious already that he was more than a little aroused as the Exile unzipped his fly and tugged on his waistband.

“I _do_ know, yes. I also know that you embarrassed yourself quite often while you were dozing in the cockpit and making some… interesting noises while you were having said dreams,” she replied casually. It was Atton’s turn to blush.

“Well, shit,” he said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

“Take off your shoes, laser-brain,” the Exile said, shaking her head as Atton’s pants stopped short of his ankles as they caught in his shoes.

“Oh. Yeah. Right,” he stumbled and tripped over his pants as he flailed about, trying to kick off his shoes. One went flying into another bunk, and another almost hit the Exile in the face before it was stopped in midair. The Exile brushed it aside with the Force, laughing. Atton finally managed to get out of all of his clothes but his underwear, and he felt almost self-conscious as he stood before the Exile. It was a similar feeling to both of them as they stared at one another, vulnerable with one another, as they had when they had discussed their tumultuous pasts. But the past was the last thing on their minds as the Exile and Atton succumbed to their desires.

At first, it was still awkward between the two of them. Fumbling, laughter used to diffuse the occasional moment of strangeness. But the rightness of the two of them, together, becoming one, never ceased. The Force flowed freely between them, and it was the most beautiful thing either of them had ever felt—the bond between them deepening like it never had before as their bodies tangled together on that small bunk in the small freighter ship.

“I love you.” The Exile’s eyes snapped open as Atton whispered the words against her ear. They were on their sides, Atton behind her and cupping her body with his own, their skin still hot from moments before. “I just thought you should know. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.” The Exile bit her lip, feeling tears beginning to prickle at the edges of her eyes. Saying it back would mean that this was real. That what they had was real, and couldn’t be played off as anything less anymore. And in the time that they still had together, before she had to go…

“I love you, too,” she heard herself say, and the overwhelming surge of warmth she felt from Atton’s bond through the Force with her as she said the words back was enough to cause the tears to fall. This was real. This was real, and it was right, and for a moment, she could forget that she would have to leave the man she loved so deeply forever.


	3. Babysitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, on Coruscant...

Bastila had to smile as her son of six years ran about the room with a model ship in hand, making _whooshing_ noises as he bobbed the toy up and down. She was reclining on the sofa in her Coruscant apartment, a short distance from where the Jedi Temple on the city-planet was being renovated with the long-distance input from one of the Jedi Exile’s companions, Bao-Dur. No students had yet returned to the temple after the Jedi Civil War and the times that had followed, but according to Carth, that was going to be changing soon enough, as the Enclave on Dantooine expanded. Carth had contacted her to make sure she was still on Coruscant a few minutes earlier, and she had reluctantly given away that she would be headed off to Jedha in the morning. Although it was technically no business of his—the Republic Admiral was no Jedi—she had to tell him, just in case something happened to her.

A tone at the door sounded, and Alek stopped running about with his toy spaceship, staring into the eyes of his mother for guidance. Sighing, Bastila rose to her feet, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear as she approached the door. A small part of her still hoped that somehow, standing just behind the threshold would be Revan, back from the Unknown Regions, and he would swoop in to kiss her and then kiss his son he had left behind, and everything would be as it should be…

“You look like hell, Bas,” Mission Vao said, her hands resting on her hips. Zaalbar was behind her, and spoke up with a low chuff of amusement.

“I know, I know. I suppose that you being here is a yes, then? I’m sorry again for the late notice,” Bastila said, stepping aside to let her old companions inside. Mission peered past Bastila as she strode into the apartment, and met gazes with Alek, who squealed with delight upon seeing Mission and jumped into her arms, laughing. Mission spun him around a couple times before setting him back down.

“Uh, duh! I love hanging out with Alek! And Big Z and I just got done with a job, so our schedule is completely free for the next two weeks,” Mission said, and tousled Alek’s hair. Zaalbar stepped to the side as Bastila closed the door behind the pair, giving a shallow bow to the Jedi Master.

“Nice to see both of you in good spirits,” Bastila said, bowing back to Zaalbar before facing Mission once more. “I shouldn’t be more than a week or so, but I told Carth where I was going, in case something should happen.”

“Where _are_ you going?” Zaalbar asked in Shyriiwook. Bastila frowned, and collapsed back into the sofa where she had been sitting before. Should she tell them? It didn’t seem wise. Mission and Zaalbar were always getting into trouble, and she definitely didn’t want the two of them dragging along Alek on a wayward rescue mission, should something occur…

“I regret to say that that information is classified,” Bastila said, finally. Mission pouted.

“Bas, we’re your friends. You can tell us,” Mission said, sitting beside Bastila. Bastila looked to Alek, who was watching them closely. So attentive. So observant. He already had so much of his father in him.

“Alek, dear, why don’t you go show Zaalbar your new pet?” Bastila suggested, and Alek’s face lit up.

“Okay! Z, come on! You won’t believe what Mom got for me…” Alek began as he dragged Zaalbar down the hall to his room. With her son safely out of hearing range, Bastila saw it fit to continue.

“I’m afraid that this is… Jedi business,” Bastila said carefully.

“You mean Revan? Have you found him?” Mission asked, sitting up. Bastila shook her head.

“A clue, perhaps. I received an anonymous tip a few weeks ago that mentioned Revan’s name. It didn’t reveal a sender, but specified a meeting time and place. So I will go and meet this contact, and see if there is anything to it,” Bastila said. “It isn’t much to go off of, but after meditating, I felt that it is the path I am meant to take. So I will go.” Mission nodded slowly. The Force had always been a mystery to her, but she understood what it meant to people like Bastila, and Revan.

“Alright. But please, Bas. Just tell me where you’re going. If something happens to you—”

“If something happens to me, Carth will respond with the aid of the Republic. There is no need to involve you. Or my son,” Bastila added. “These are dangerous times, Mission. There are currents in the Force… things are changing. I fear that a great darkness will soon be upon us.” Mission made a face.

“Jeez, you’d think that the galaxy would stay saved for more than just five measly years,” she said. “I hope we won’t have to save it all over again. Last time was hard enough.” Bastila smiled.

“We will do what we must,” she said quietly. Mission nodded in silent agreement. They heard Alek talking excitedly about his new pet—a small lizard Bastila had found one day on a visit to the temple. The poor thing had been stepped on and was near death, but Bastila had coaxed it back to health with her Force-healing skills. It would never fully recover, so she had brought it back to the apartment for Alek.

“I miss him,” Mission murmured, crossing her arms over her chest. For a moment, she again looked like that fourteen-year-old girl that Bastila had first met. “He was such a kriffing idiot, just taking off like he did. We could have helped him.”

“He knew what he was doing,” Bastila said, a heaviness weighing in her gut. It was still hard to make herself believe her own words as she spoke them. Did he know what he was doing? What he had given up, all to go on some wild gizka chase to find what he and Malak had discovered at the end of the Mandalorian Wars and face it, alone?

“Hm. Maybe,” Mission muttered. “You should probably get some sleep before you have to leave tomorrow morning. You’re taking an early shuttle, aren’t you?”

“Earliest one, yes. Will you and Zaalbar—?”

“We’ll put him to bed in a bit, don’t worry! You just rest,” Mission said, and got to her feet, patting Bastila’s hand awkwardly before darting off in the direction of Alek’s room. Bastila felt as if Mission was more excited about the new pet than Alek had been.

Bastila rose from the sofa and padded into her room, where her bags were already packed and set by the door. There wasn’t much. A bag of basic supplies for braving the Jedha wilderness, and a bag of extra armor and clothing. Her eyes traveled to her lightsaber, which was sitting on her nightstand. She reached out with the Force, and the hilt zoomed off the table and smacked into her palm, stinging her skin. She closed her eyes.

_Please, don’t let this be another dead end,_ she thought to herself, biting her lip. Her eyes flickered open again, and she sat on the edge of her bed with a sigh as she rubbed her thumb against the surface of her saber’s hilt, burnishing away a stray mark. _I am coming for you, my love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this fanfic, Revan will be male. Perhaps I will write my female Revan a fic sometime. When I have the time.


	4. The Companions (Meanwhile, on Dantooine...)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mical, Visas, and Bao-Dur are still getting accustomed to their roles in the Jedi Enclave on Dantooine.

_Progress report from the Coruscant temple._

_Recruitment numbers._

_Supply numbers._

_Progress report from Brianna’s mission on Korriban._

_Progress report from Mira’s mission on Tatooine._

_Complaint filings._

_A memo from Visas._

_An update from the Exile and Atton._

_An assistance request from Khoonda._

_Reports of increased kinrath and kath hound activity on the south plains._

_Assistance requests from a dozen different planets._

_An update on Exchange activity._

_An update on Czerka activity._

 

Mical groaned, letting his head fall onto the console in front of him as he let his data pad slip from his fingers and clatter against the table. There was _so much_.

“Oh, dear. Overwhelmed, are we?” A kindly voice spoke from the doorway of Mical’s office, and he rose from his seat in an instant to greet the visitor.

“Ah. Padawan Bomara. Always a pleasure,” Mical said, bowing. Bomara bowed in return.

“May I come in?” Bomara clasped her hands in front of herself politely.

“Of course, of course. I was just, ah, working,” Mical said, clearing his throat. He really needed to close his door when he had breakdowns. He gestured for the older woman to sit on the other side of his desk. She complied gratefully, sitting down with agonizing slowness. He sat when she was safely in her chair. “What brings you here?” He inquired, posture immaculate once more as he faced the Padawan.

“Just checking up on you, my dear. You overwork yourself far too much. You must learn to delegate more. There are plenty of us here who would gladly shoulder some of your burden for you,” Bomara said.

“I _would._ But you’re all so new here. I would give more to Mira, Visas, and the others, but they have their own duties to attend to already, and a couple of them aren’t even here to help, since they’re on important missions for the Order,” Mical said. Bomara chuckled.

“My dear, look at me. I’m an old woman with too much time on her hands. And your Exile picked up a lot of us older folks who had been passed up by the old Order for being too old when we were discovered to be Force Sensitives. We have experience with working and handling some of these tasks. We might be new to the ways of the Jedi, but so are you. We must rely upon each other for the strength and support the New Order needs to stay on its feet,” Bomara explained.

“But you have your training, like the others—”

“Pah. One can only train for so long before the mind and body grow weary. You know this. Assign the Padawans and the Knights some tasks, and we will assist you. You should know that no organization is held up by a single individual. You’re a historian, are you not?” Mical hesitated, but then sighed deeply.

“You’re right, Bomara. I’ve just been so preoccupied with everything that’s been going on—feeling like I have to do everything. Leadership doesn’t suit me. I’ll never understand why the Exile gave me this role,” he said. Bomara chuckled.

“My child, the fact that you never wanted the role of Grand Master of the Jedi Order is exactly why the Exile gave it to you. You are a good man, Master Mical. The power you wield will not overcome you, as you never wished to wield it in the first place. That is why she chose you. And you _are_ capable. Look within yourself. The years I’ve lived have given me more than just wrinkles, you know!” Bomara said, and patted Mical’s hand before rising to her feet. “I expect to see assignments handed out tomorrow, Master Mical. May the Force be with you.” Mical rose once more as Bomara bowed to him, bowing to her in turn, and the older woman left his office.

“Right. I can do this,” Mical muttered to himself, slumping back into his seat and picking up his datapad once more.

 

* * *

 

“Your form is unbalanced,” Visas said cooly, and hooked the tow of her boot around the ankle of her opponent, yanking back. The movement sent her enemy tumbling to the practice mat with an undignified _“Oof!”_ of surprise. “Again,” Visas ordered, and stepped back to let her opponent get to his feet once more.

“Damn it,” the disgruntled, teenaged Zabrak said, groaning as he picked himself up for the hundredth time. “Can’t I practice with one of the other Masters for a bit?” Visas’s mouth twitched with the hint of a smile.

“No,” she said curtly, and launched herself at the Zabrak, swinging her leg up for a roundhouse kick to his head, mindful of his sharp horns. The Zabrak gasped and ducked just in time, countering with a powerful kick that was aimed at Visas’s midsection. She easily bent her body around the blow, dodging it fluidly. She hesitated for a moment, curious to see what the Zabrak boy would do if given a second opening. He saw it, and lunched forward with a feint to the side before turning at the last second to send his elbow straight towards her gut. She smiled, sidestepping, and let the force of his blow carry him through and onto the floor.

_“Kriff!”_ He cursed, punching the practice mat. “Stupid!”

“Against a less skilled opponent, that move might have worked,” Visas acknowledged, and offered him a hand. He took it, getting back to his feet. “However, I am not that opponent. You must learn to take on those stronger and more lithe than yourself and win. You have been fighting weaker beings for too long, and it has stagnated your growth as a warrior. You cannot assume that your enemy will be weaker than you.”

“I get it, I get it. But I can’t seem to get anything right!” The boy kicked his bare foot against the edge of the mat, leaning down to snag his bottle of water and taking a long swig. He smacked his lips as he set it back down. “I just keep on messing up. I’m not learning anything except that I suck.”

“One of the first steps in learning is to observe. You watch, you look—but you do not observe. When you are fighting, reach out with your feelings. Use the Force to study your opponent more intimately. As you fight, you will notice patterns, weaknesses, and strengths. Use these. Exploit them. And let the Force move you,” Visas said, her hands moving as she spoke, illustrating her points abstractly with wide, waving movements. The Zabrak nodded slowly.

“Okay… I can try that,” he said, and then grinned suddenly. “Hey, if I beat you in a fight, will you let me hold one of your lightsabers?” Visas’s automatic “no” caught in her throat, and she considered his request, eyeing her weapons that were with her shoes on the side of the mat.

“I will think about it. Your victory would have to be most decisive,” she said, and then got into her practiced ready stance. “Now. Begin.”

Her Zabrak student attacked with yell, but it was different than his usual outbursts of frustration. No, she could feel him reaching out. Yes. Good. His fist sailed past her face, and she smiled as she knocked aside the subsequent blow with a simple block. She then went on the offensive with a volley of punches and kicks that almost overwhelmed the boy—but not quite. He was finding his balance.

“Got you now,” he muttered to himself, and dove low, sweeping his leg to knock her off her feet. Visas withheld a smirk as she jumped the sweep and caught him before he could get up, smashing him to the practice mat with a blow to his chest. “Fuck! I was so close! I could feel it!” The Zabrak moaned in exasperation, rolling back to his feet and rubbing his chest. Every part of him was sore after hours of sparring, and his skin was so slick with sweat that he felt he could be mistaken for one of those slug-like Hutts.

“You were _closer._ You still have much to learn before picking up a lightsaber, young one,” Visas said. “But you have made progress. I am proud.” The Zabrak almost looked angry for a moment, but then beamed. Her praise, small though it might be, was so rare from her that it meant more to her students when she finally gifted it.

“Thanks,” he said.

“We are done for today. Work on what you have learned,” Visas said, and bowed to her student, who bowed in return.

“Will do, Master Visas,” the boy said, still grinning as he snatched up his shoes and water bottle and started to dash out of the practice room, not even bothering to put on his shoes before leaving.

“Wait,” she said, and he skittered to a stop just by the door, his sweaty feet sliding on the tile. “What is your name?”

“Wait, we’ve been sparring for hours and you don’t even know my name? The others weren’t lying about how you don’t really connect with your students,” the Zabrak said, but his tone wasn’t derisive. Rather, it was amused. And this amused Visas. “My name is Shem. Shem Luran. Remember it, because I’m going to be a Master like you one day.” Shem gave a smirk and a two-fingered salute before running off into the hall, and Visas chuckled softly to herself, shaking her head.

Her students were all quite strong-willed—even the quiet ones—and training them in the forms of the Jedi would be a difficult task indeed. Just getting them into the mindset was difficult. Thankfully, there were those who had been a part of the Jedi Order before, and since returned—they were easier to train, and she could actually spar against them with her lightsabers. Mical and the others were almost too busy to have a simple sparring session to let out the tension and learn a few things these days. Of course, that didn’t mean they were out of practice—certainly, with those such as Mira and Brianna, who were almost constantly out on missions, they found practice in the day to day life of their dangerous quests. Mical had been taking more urging to keep up with his training since the Exile had made him Grand Master. Visas would have to surprise him to a duel one of these days. Keep him on his toes. Yes. Perhaps today, sometime. There were still several hours left before dinner.

This one, though. The new student she had just sparred with. This Zabrak, this _Shem…_ She found that she rather liked him.

 

* * *

 

Evening on Dantooine in the Jedi Enclave meant a blessed hiatus from the normal activities of the day, which meant that for Bao-Dur, he could finally take a break from the renovation plans on both Dantooine and Coruscant and work on his own, personal projects before turning in for the night. So it was that once he had said good night to the other Masters and retreated back into his personal quarters, he immediately resumed work on his new remote.

The loss of his old droid had been harder on him than he let on. The others would never have understood. After all, it was just a dumb droid, was it not? And not even an advanced model. Just a simple target remote that was modified over the course of many years to perform repair functions, engage in some lively conversation, and even provide a last defense in a desperate battle with its little laser. That remote had been his companion since he was a child. It had been there with him as he had activated the Mass Shadow Generator back on Malachor V, and its destruction there felt like some cruel twist of fate. Bao-Dur had often told the Exile about how a part of him had died back on Malachor V when the Mass Shadow Generator went live, decimating the entire planet and killing thousands as it drew them into the inescapable gravitational pull that smashed ship against ship against rock… With the demise of his one constant companion on that planet’s wretched surface, yet another piece of him was lost to Malachor. That planet was cursed.

But now he was constructing the remote’s successor. A droid companion for a new chapter in his life, courtesy of the Exile. She had shown him a better path. He still struggled with his anger—it often broiled just below the surface of his mind, threatening to boil over with one misstep from one of his wayward students—but it was better than it had been. This new project gave him something to focus on that wasn’t related to the enormous task of rebuilding the Order, which helped his mental state. Although he was dedicated to the return of the Jedi, as much as any of the Exile’s companions were, he couldn’t spend every waking minute working on construction plans and repairs.

Bao-Dur settled down at his workbench and strapped on a pair of goggles before getting to work. It was a meditative process, he realized—piecing the droid together, precisely fitting parts to parts, welding, soldering, and making the tiniest of adjustments with minuscule tools. He knew how to recreate every physical part of the remote he had once constructed as a child, and lost on Malachor. But its personality would be different. He had yet to turn it on, and frankly, he was somewhat hesitant to do so.

He worked for a good three hours before realizing that he’d better go to bed before midnight, in order to awaken bright and early for morning meditations, led by Mical. Sighing, Bao-Dur put down his tools and removed his goggles, setting them delicately on the workbench beside the mostly-assembled remote. Taking a breath, he activated it.

There was the _whirr_ of the components and electronics humming to life, and the remote shot a foot into the air above the workbench, rotating back and forth while making confused beeping noises.

“Hello, there,” Bao-Dur said, smiling. A series of tones and whistles from the remote followed, and Bao-Dur laughed quietly. “No, I’ve only just activated you. Don’t worry. Before you get too distressed, I’ll have you know that I’ll be making a few final adjustments to your circuitry before I consider you complete. Then I’ll add a few modifications to make you more useful around here,” Bao-Dur told the remote, which beeped a short burst in reply.

“Of course you’re useful now. I’ve never constructed anything without making it useful. Now, I’ve got to go to bed, so I’m going to put you into your sleep cycle for now, alright?” Bao-Dur leaned forward and pressed a hidden switch that was concealed beneath a ridge in the remote’s metal chassis, and the droid powered down with a hum, floating gently down to the workbench surface before hitting it with a _clunk._

“Almost like my old remote already,” Bao-Dur murmured to himself, and patted the remote fondly. “We’re going to be great friends, you and I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not every companion. Their stories will be told, later. Probably within the next two chapters, I'll touch on Mira, Brianna, Atris, and a couple more friends from the first KOTOR.


	5. An Old Frenemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Exile and Atton finally track down Bastila.

“When Carth said that we’d have to run to catch Bastila before she left Coruscant, I didn’t realize that he meant literal running,” Atton remarked as he and the Exile sprinted down the spaceport hall. Thankfully, they’d managed to secure a docking bay in the same spaceport that Bastila was planning to leave from, but the spaceport itself was over three miles long, and Bastila’s shuttle was a mile away from the _Ebon Hawk’s_ docking bay.

“He never actually said we’d be running. You were asleep while he was explaining it to me, anyway,” the Exile said, gasping for breath as they rounded a corner. She glanced up at a spaceport chrono as they dashed by, startling a small group of Ithorians. “Five minutes. Come on.”

“Quit stepping on my jokes,” Atton said, groaning as he picked up the pace. They wove through the morning crowds, disrupting a street preacher and a musician before reaching the shuttle bays where Bastila’s ship would be. The Exile glanced about, searching the loading lines for the Jedi Master.

“There!” She ran forward, cutting into the line and causing a minor uproar as the attendant chided her for breaking the queue, but she summarily ignored it. “Bastila Shan!”

Bastila looked up from her datapad she had been cradling, and when she met the Exile’s eyes, she narrowed her own.

“If you’d excuse me, I have a shuttle to catch,” she said, and the Exile scowled, reaching forward and grabbing Bastila’s arm.

“I don’t think so. You have some answering to do about ignoring my calls. I shouldn’t have had to go through Carth to track you down. We’re both Jedi. What’s wrong with you?” The Exile demanded. Bastila wrenched her arm away, looking from the Exile to Atton to the exasperated attendant, who was struggling to calm the other passengers in line.

“I don’t have time for this,” Bastila muttered under her breath.

“If it helps, we can get you where you want to go after you talk with us,” Atton spoke up. “We have a ship.”

“Do you?” Bastila said icily. This was outrageous. She had to get to Jedha, and she couldn’t be late for this meeting… what if the contact didn’t show up if she was late? But the Exile wasn’t going to leave her alone. She had no choice.

“We do,” the Exile said, her tone equally as chilly.

“Fine. I will go with you. But we must leave here immediately for Jedha,” Bastila said, hefting her bags on her shoulders and stowing her datapad.

“Yeah, we know. Follow us,” Atton said, and beckoned for the Jedi Master to follow. Disgruntled, Bastila hurried out of the loading line for her shuttle (she would have to get a refund somehow—the fare wasn’t cheap) and began to walk in time with the Exile.

“Who is that?” Bastila asked, nodding to Atton, who was leading the way back to the _Hawk_ , his back to the two women.

“Atton Rand. I’ve trained him as a Jedi,” the Exile explained casually. Bastila’s face twisted before she managed to quiet her features. _There is no emotion; there is peace._

“You are no Jedi,” Bastila said, willing her tone to be more calm than she was. “You abandoned the ways of the true Jedi when you left to fight in the Mandalorian Wars. Your punishment was just. I’d have thought you’d have learned something from your time away, but I suppose not.” The Exile scoffed beside her, smirking.

“Bastila, I know about you and Revan. I know about what happened with the Star Forge, and Revan’s redemption. And that you two are—were—an item. Don’t lecture me about the Mandalorian Wars when you fell in love with the instigator of the Jedi’s role in that conflict. Did you argue with Revan about it as well, or is that privilege reserved for those who actually returned to the Order to face judgement, instead of running off to start another war, like Revan did?” The Exile asked. Bastila frowned.

“You and Revan are not the same,” she said primly.

“So it would seem,” the Exile said. Bastila looked at the Exile, confused. “There seem to be a lot of blurred lines between us, for some people,” the Exile said, meeting Bastila’s eyes.

“Revan was redeemed through the Order. He returned to the light and followed the will of the Council,” Bastila said.

“And what did the Order ever give me? Nothing. Where they offered Revan redemption, they offered me exile. Where Revan was welcomed back into the Order with open arms, I was going to have the Force stripped from me forever!” The Exile stopped in her tracks, anger overcoming her. “And what did I do after that? I swore to rebuild the Order! To bring back that institution that was so quick to cast me aside. The galaxy _needs_ the Jedi, and what have _you_ done while I’ve been working my ass off to bring them back? Sitting on your hands and ignoring my holocalls because of some childish grudge against me from before I joined the Mando Wars!” The Exile yelled. People were staring, but she didn’t care. “I gave my _life_ to the Jedi! I did it before, and I’m doing it again! If you could just listen to me for five kriffing minutes, maybe you’d help me instead of condemning me!”

Bastila stepped back, studying the Exile’s face and reaching out a few feelers in the Force. The Exile was filled with rage, yes, but it wasn’t tainted by the Dark Side so much as it was… tired. It was difficult for Bastila to wrap her mind around. The emotion radiating from the Exile was complicated—at once, desperate, loving, afraid, overwhelmed, sad, angry—and Bastila realized just how easy it was to understand the Exile when she opened her mind to her, allowing the Force to flow…

“Do I need to call security to break up a catfight, or are we good?” Atton asked, glancing from the Exile to Bastila. Both women had intense looks on their faces, and far be it from him to interfere in this… whatever it was. Jedi standoff?

“We’re fine,” the Exile answered, before Bastila could open her mouth. The Exile turned away from her and marched up to Atton, grabbing him by the wrist. “Come on.”

It was an awkward walk back to the _Ebon Hawk,_ but the tension that had been there before seemed to have dissipated for the most part. Bastila had followed behind quietly, and noted how the Exile had moved her grip from Atton’s wrist to his hand. At least she wasn’t the only one who had fallen in love with an unlikely man.

When Bastila saw the _Ebon Hawk_ in all its glory in the loading bay, her breath caught in her throat. It had been years since she’d seen this ship in person. Years since her travels with Revan to uncover the Star Maps that were scattered throughout the galaxy with the rest of their motley crew. It brought back profound memories—some good, some bad. It stung her that after all this time, the ship that had been her home for some time had fallen to the custody of the Exile, of all people.

“Carth told me you had the _Ebon Hawk._ How did you end up acquiring it, anyways? It disappeared after Revan left, and I’d assumed it had been destroyed,” Bastila said as they approached. Atton pressed the panel by the loading ramp to open it, and it creaked and groaned as it lowered. “I see you haven’t been taking good care of it.”

“We’ll take it back to Dantooine for Bao-Dur to look at it once we get your business taken care of,” the Exile said, and patted the hydraulics of the ramp fondly. “She’ll be fine. It’s just been a while since her last check-up.”

“I see,” Bastila said, pursing her lips. She followed Atton and the Exile into the _Hawk_. It looked almost exactly the same. In the main hold, she noticed that the storage compartment that Juhani had taken over during their travels together had been adorned with posters. She squinted as they walked by, realizing that they weren’t just some music or vid posters. They were ‘wanted’ posters. “What sort of things have you been up to?” Bastila asked the Exile as they entered the cockpit. She set her things down by the door while Atton took the pilot’s seat and the Exile took the copilot’s seat.

“You would know, if you’d cared to answer my calls,” the Exile said, but then relented some. “Those posters are Mira’s doing. She used to be a bounty hunter. Now she’s another one of my students.”

“How many students have you accumulated?”

“Not enough to sustain the Jedi Order. That’s why we need you. You need to rally the support of the more… conservative types. If you can. Have them rejoin the Order and keep it alive. There’s something coming, Bastila, and I think you know that,” the Exile said solemnly. “Now, let’s get out of here and fly to Jedha.”

“You got it,” Atton said lightly, and expertly piloted the _Ebon Hawk_ out of the docking bay and into the stream of outgoing air traffic. Atton grimaced as a couple ships got a little too close for comfort. “I hate flying in clogged airways. Give me an open space like Dantooine any day.”

“Funny. You seem rather at home in the big cities,” the Exile remarked as Bastila lowered herself into the seat behind Atton.

“Maybe on the ground. Up here, there’s no freedom. You’ve got to stay in your lane, or risk being hit by something like _that_ monstrosity,” Atton said, nodding to a looming cargo ship that was in a lane off to their port side. “And _then_ you face getting arrested for breaking your lane. Which is something I definitely do not know from experience. Certainly not.” The Exile chuckled, leaning back in her seat. For a moment, she could almost forget that she’d have to leave soon, and Bastila, and pretend that she and Atton were simply on another simple milk-run mission alone together.

“You wished to speak with me, so speak,” Bastila spoke up. The moment was shattered, and the Exile sighed. Might as well get it over with. She swiveled her seat around to face Bastila and crossed her arms over her chest, sizing up the Jedi Master. It was hard to believe that Bastila was almost ten years her junior. She looked… worn. Carth hadn’t said much about his travels with Revan, Bastila, and the others of that crew, but he had told the Exile about how Bastila had briefly fallen to the Dark Side after being under torture for a week, and how Revan had made the choice to redeem her, despite being so close to falling back into his old ways himself…

“I want to apologize for my outburst earlier,” the Exile began carefully. “At least, the tone with which I delivered those comments and the personal attacks. But the way the Council treated me was wrong. The way it wiped Revan’s mind and stuck in a falsified history of a Republic scout was wrong. Manipulating him was wrong, and so like the Sith. I won’t argue with the results… But both of us know that Revan could just as easily have turned on you and the Republic. The Jedi Order needs to change, and I need you to help me do that.” Bastila took a deep breath and exhaled just as deeply, centering herself. No childish arguments this time. She was no longer a child. She hadn’t been for years.

“What about the Order are you thinking about changing?”

“Don’t worry, the code will stay intact. But the old ways, about not intervening when help is needed—what caused so much loss of life in the beginning of the Mandalorian Wars—the ways that cast people out of the Order for forming attachments, the ways that took children from their families without the approval of the parents, and the ways that restricted teaching about the Dark Side… Those all have to end. And that’s just getting started,” the Exile said. Bastila gawked.

“You would have the Jedi Order teach about the Dark Side?” Her eyes widened in shock, and the Exile sighed.

“For kriff’s sake, Bastila. We won’t be instructing them in the beliefs of the Dark Side. We will show them why the ways of the Dark Side are flawed, and how to avoid falling into their snare while still upholding what is right. We can teach the New Order to use those Force powers that the old Order banned, the powers that have saved the lives of my friends and other innocents time and time again, while still upholding the Light. We will become more powerful, to resist the threat in the Unknown Regions, but still be humble in that power. You know we can,” the Exile explained. Bastila shook her head, but considered the Exile’s proposition.

“I see what you mean. And perhaps it is possible… Just tell me we will wait on such instruction until the students are prepared for that burden,” Bastila said. The Exile blinked in surprise.

“I’m shocked that you’re suddenly so pragmatic,” she remarked. Bastila shrugged.

“Perhaps back when we were still young, it would have been different. Life teaches you to be more pragmatic than you might have been in your youth,” she said, and then hesitated before continuing. “I am sorry for ignoring your calls. That… that was foolish and infantile of me.”

“Yeah, it was,” Atton piped up from the pilot’s seat. “And yep, I’ve been listening this whole time. People seem to forget that I’m here when they’re going on with their personal conversations. Anyways, we’re about to make the jump to Jedha, so hang on.” The Exile smirked at Bastila’s annoyed expression and swiveled back to face the front of the ship as they cleared Coruscant’s atmosphere and made their way into open space. “Jedha, here we come.” Atton punched in the coordinates and hit the hyperdrive, and there was a lurch as the _Hawk_ made the jump into hyperspace. “Okay, ladies. We’re on our way.” Atton leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms behind his head and tossing his feet up onto the console. Bastila eyed him.

“Though I am getting more used to you, Exile, your company here lacks… sophistication,” she said. Atton laughed.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, your majesty,” he said.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine, your grace.”

“Shut it, you two,” the Exile said, rolling her eyes. “Now come on. Where were we? More changes to the Order? What do you think of the other ones?”

“Obviously, I am in favor of not instantly banishing Jedi from the Order if they are found to have formed… attachments,” Bastila said, flushing slightly red as the Exile turned her chair back around to face her.

“Ain’t that handy,” Atton said, closing his eyes. “But don’t forget that you’re going to have to convince some of the other remaining Jedi that doing that’s not going to compromise your fancy little Jedi ideals.”

“I will speak with them. They will listen to me, even knowing my position is biased,” Bastila said evenly, and then tilted her head. “Probably. And as for your position regarding Force-Sensitive children… We will have to discuss that. You can’t deny that it is dangerous to leave untrained Force-Sensitives with their families. If the Sith were to discover them, or if an accident should occur—”

“Fine, we’ll talk about that one with the Council.”

“Wait, you’ve already created a new Council?” Bastila started. Atton scoffed, his eyes still closed.

“It’s not like anyone else was going to do it. But don’t worry. I think even you would approve of who I appointed to be the Grand Master of the Jedi. It’s certainly not me,” the Exile said. Bastila rolled her eyes, sighing.

“Another one of your ‘students,’ I presume?”

“Indeed. My best, besides Atton here,” the Exile said. Atton raised an eyebrow lazily.

“I still think Visas is a little closer to second place than Mical,” he said.

“That’s nice, Atton,” the Exile said, shaking her head. “Moving on, questions of technicalities and the finer details aside, have you made your choice to help us, or are you going to continue moping in Coruscant for the next five years?”

“I will help you. But I must still make my appointment in Jedha,” Bastila said. “It is of the utmost importance.”

“So you keep implying. But what are you even doing there? What’s so important on Jedha?” Atton asked, opening his eyes and taking his feet down from the console to shift to face Bastila. She bit her lip, unsure. She knew she could now trust the Exile, despite their rocky past, but she was still wary of this one. Something about him… She started to lightly brush his consciousness with the Force, searching for answers, but instead of finding anything regarding who he was, she just found numbers and… were those Pazaak cards? “Well?” Atton said sharply. His sour expression told her that he was definitely aware of her presence in his mind. He had been well-trained—Bastila’s touch had been light.

“It concerns Revan,” she said, looking from the Exile to Atton, silently asking the Exile if such matters could be discussed in Atton’s presence.

“Anything you say to me, you can say to Atton,” the Exile said stonily. Bastila resisted heaving a sigh as she continued.

“After Revan’s disappearance a few years ago, I never stopped searching for him. Carth and I both. My contacts recently uncovered something on Jedha. Rather, some _one._ This individual claims to have knowledge of where Revan went after he left without warning. They say that he stopped on Jedha to make sure something was safe, but they refused to be more specific unless I met them in person,” she explained. “I don’t know who this person is, or how they know Revan, but it’s the only lead I have.”

“Then I’m going with you to meet this individual,” the Exile said firmly. “Atton and I will accompany you. There’s no way you’re going alone. It could be a trap.”

“I do not sense it to be a trap. In any case, you can’t come with. You cannot put this one thread that might lead us to Revan in jeopardy. I forbid it,” Bastila said.

“Fine. You can take the meeting alone. But we _will_ be nearby, should you need us,” the Exile said. Bastila nodded slowly.

“Just like old times,” she remarked, hearkening back to their days together as Padawans. The two of them had run missions together, not totally unlike this…

“Sure,” the Exile said, shrugging, and then sighed. “I’m done talking for a while. Going to go read some of Mical’s reports or something.” She pushed herself from her seat and brushed past Bastila to make for her quarters. Bastila watched her go, uncertain of what to do. The Exile’s departure seemed… abrupt, to say the least.

“She needs time alone now and then. Can you blame her?” Atton said, clasping his hands together on his lap and looking down at them. “She’s been through a lot. And I can tell that you have, too. What was she like back then? When you knew her?” Bastila raised an eyebrow.

“For someone who supposedly loves her, you’re awfully quick to go behind her back to inquire about her,” she said. Atton made a face.

“Don’t say it like that. She just never talks about it. When we’re about to talk about it, she changes the subject or just skims by with surface information. She barely told me a thing about you,” Atton said, gesturing to her.

“Don’t make excuses,” Bastila said.

“Fine. Don’t tell me anything. I’ll… I’ll wait. I just don’t like being kept in the dark. People always do that to me, and it annoys the hell out of me,” he said, frowning.

“What’s your story, anyway?” Bastila inquired. “You’re strong in the Force. You noticed me trying to get a read on you earlier.” Atton’s frown turned into a deep scowl, and his hands moved from his lap to the armrests of the chair.

“Yeah, I noticed,” he said coldly. “And you want to know my story? I don’t think so. You might reconsider helping the Exile if you really knew what sort of company she keeps, and I’m not gonna put everything on the line just because I like seeing you uncomfortable. You ‘prim-and-proper’ types annoy me.” Atton spun his chair around to face the cockpit window, watching the streams of light flash by.

“You’re obviously a retired soldier,” Bastila inferred. Atton flinched.

“Yeah, well. There’s a lot of us out there. I’m no one special,” he muttered. “Forget I even said anything to initiate conversation with you in the first place.” Bastila ignored him, instead deciding to get up from her seat behind Atton and sit in the copilot’s seat. Her old seat, from time to time… More old memories.

“On the contrary,” Bastila said, studying Atton. He tossed aside the tactic of ignoring her and instead met her eyes, staring her down. His gaze was sharp, and there was something behind his eyes that spoke of incredible pain… not just his own, but… others. Pain he had inflicted upon others. Bastila turned her head away as she ceased her scan of his mind, realizing that Atton had been letting her sense the barest traces of his memories. It was enough for her to realize that perhaps she _was_ being too hasty.

“Stay out of my head, Jedi,” he said. “The Exile seems to trust you well enough, now that she got that initial outburst out of her system, but I don’t know what to make of you yet. It seems you’re more concerned with finding Revan than the welfare of the Jedi Order and the galaxy as a whole. And you talked down to the Exile as if she wasn’t a real Jedi when _you_ don’t have the right to call yourself one. We’re done here,” he said. Bastila opened her mouth to speak once more, but another look from Atton silenced her. Who _was_ he?

“Fine. I suppose I’ll just make myself comfortable in the hold,” she said, and got up, lifting her pair of bags and resettling in the main hold on one of the hard couches.

Back in the cockpit, Atton kneaded his temples with his fingers, taking a few deep breaths. He understood why the Exile had been so averse to Bastila’s nature. She was… abrasive. Even when she thought she was trying not to be. And so nosy! He barely knew her at all, and already she had tried to go digging into his past. Typical Jedi. He scoffed at himself. And now _he_ was a Jedi. It was still so hard to believe. He was a Jedi, and he was with the woman he loved.

The conversation between Atton and the Exile on the way to Coruscant rose back to his mind, and he tried so hard to push it away. She couldn’t just _leave._ Will of the Force be damned, he would find a way for her to stay, or a way for him to go with her. Screw Revan, screw the Jedi. He did everything for _her,_ and he would continue to do so as long as he lived. She had made him whole again. Now… he had to try and make her whole again, too.

He still sensed that emptiness inside her that Kreia seemed to have been so worked up about. A wound in the Force. He wondered if he could fix the Exile. The times when she went off on her own, secluding herself, like she had to earn the title of ‘Exile’… Those times were when the wound in the Force seemed to echo within her, and she had to get away from everyone. Atton told her it didn’t bother him, but it did. Not so much that she had to get away from people—he understood that part just fine—but the nature of the emptiness inside her. It had grown in strength since Malachor V and Kreia, and it worried him. Perhaps Revan might know what to do, if they could find him…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always imagined the Exile and Bastila getting along back in the day, but since Bastila turned out to be something of a prodigy, it started to separate them even before the Mando Wars. The departure of the Exile to the front lines was just the straw that broke the camel's back in this case.
> 
> The Exile still has some intense feelings about Bastila (and Revan), but we'll get to those in good time. Hopefully.


	6. Jedha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Exile, Atton, and Bastila rendezvous with a mysterious informant on the ravaged Jedi world, and important revelations come to light.

Jedha, the Exile ascertained, was not a great place to live. She, Bastila, and Atton were all being violently jostled by the crowd in the city market of one of the main scavenger settlements of the planet as they struggled to reach the city gates.

“There’s plenty of room _outside_ the walls. Why can’t they expand?” Atton complained, biting back a yelp of pain as a large Trandoshan stepped on his foot.

“These people are here while valuables still remain to be pillaged. They would not spend resources on expanding when they aren’t even going to be here to stay,” Bastila said, raising her voice to be heard above the din.

“I just can’t wait to get back to Dantooine,” the Exile mumbled, worming her way through a particularly tightly-packed throng.

“Let’s just get this done,” Bastila said. The three of them forged ahead, navigating the crowds with much difficulty before the people finally thinned out enough for them to walk side by side, as opposed to single file. “Everyone still have their lightsabers?” Bastila asked, looking first to the Exile, then to Atton. Atton patted his sides.

“Yup. Still got ‘em. Believe me, Your Grace, I’d know if someone snitched something from me,” Atton said. The Exile checked her belt for the familiar weight of her lightsaber, but there was nothing. She froze in her tracks, panic rising in her chest.

“My—”

“Lightsaber?” Atton brandished the Exile’s double-bladed saber from behind his back. “Looking for something?” The Exile’s face burned bright red as she snatched her weapon from Atton, hooking it back on her belt.

“I swear, I’ll kriffing kill you,” she growled, punching Atton in the shoulder.

“Ow,” Atton said, but smiled. Bastila shook her head. _Children._

“Can we please just get moving?” She asked, tapping her foot. The Exile and Atton followed Bastila to a speeder rental kiosk, where Bastila negotiated the rental of two standard speeder bikes. There was no discussion as to who would sit where—the Exile took control of one, with Atton holding her waist from behind, and Bastila took the other speeder alone.

“I’ll let you know when we’re close. Then you two will stop, and I will continue alone. You may keep an eye out, but please, do not interfere. I can’t risk it,” Bastila said, right before revving up her bike’s engine. It was an older model, and it was loud, filling the air with a dull, rumbling roar that made it hard for one to hear someone not a meter in front of them. The Exile started up her bike in turn, and Bastila led the way out of the city, making for the stony structures on the horizon.

It was almost relaxing, save for the incessant wailing of the speeder bike engine, as they coasted along the dusty terrain of the planet. Atton tightened his grip on the Exile’s waist, setting his chin on her shoulder briefly before kissing the side of her cheek as she flew the speeder. He smiled at her grin as he kissed her. It made him happy to see her happy. He could almost zone out Bastila and pretend it was just the two of them against the galaxy, flying along on a speeder…

The moment was shattered when Bastila slowed to a stop in front of them. The Exile followed suit, bringing her speeder to a halt beside Bastila’s and getting off with Atton.

“The rendezvous coordinates are just beyond that ridge,” Bastila said, pointing to a crest of stone and red-orange sand that loomed in the near-distance. “I will proceed alone from here, though you may approach on foot while keeping your distance.”

“Got it,” the Exile said, already shifting her gear on her back to make the walk ahead more comfortable. “Let us know if anything goes wrong on your wrist comm. Frequency 0093.”

“0093,” Bastila repeated. “I will see you shortly.” With that, Bastila zoomed away towards the ridge, the Exile watching her go.

“So… are we just going to leave our bike out here in the middle of nowhere? It’s bound to disappear while we’re off spying on Bastila and her contact,” Atton said. “With the people around here, anyway.”

“I’m going to go monitor Bastila. You’re going to stay with the bike,” the Exile said, and Atton gaped.

“What?”

“Atton, if something goes wrong before I get there on foot, we might need a quick getaway with the other bike, so that means that one of us has to stay here. I know Bastila and Revan more than you do, so I’m going on foot. You’re our backup. Is that understood?” The Exile looked at Atton pointedly. He made a face, but nodded.

“Fine, fine. I guess I’ll just… wait here, then,” he said, kicking at a few stray pebbles on the rust-colored dirt. The Exile’s stern expression melted into one of amusement.

“Practice your forms, or use the Force to levitate the bike. There’s always something to do,” she said lightly, and turned on her heel, starting her jog towards the rendezvous point.

“Jedi,” Atton muttered as he watched her go, folding his arms over his chest.

 

* * *

 

Bastila steered her bike down a steep hill of stone and dirt, maneuvering it between two particularly intimidating boulders before arriving in the small alcove tucked into the far side of the ridge. Dismounting from her bike, she put a hand on her lightsaber’s hilt to reassure herself before scanning the area, both with the Force and with her eyes. She sensed something—just on the edge of her senses, but it was there—the only problem was that it seemed nebulous, as if it had no location. She recognized this sensation. A device was being used to mask someone’s Force-signature…

Bastila wheeled around, activating her lightsaber and holding it defensively as she heard the familiar hiss of a stealth generator being deactivated. A blaster pistol was leveled at her face. Beyond the pistol, a helm.

“Canderous?” Bastila asked, lowering her saber, less out of familiarity and more out of shock. The Mandalorian nodded curtly and lowered his blaster, holstering it at his side. Bastila looked over her old acquaintance. His armor was tarnished, with a few splotches here and there that looked suspiciously like dried blood. A short vibroblade was looped over his shoulder, as well as a repeating blaster rifle. He was armed to the teeth. “I haven’t seen you in…”

“Years, I know,” Canderous’s weary voice said through the vocal modulator in his helmet. Bastila realized that this Mandalorian helm wasn’t just any piece of headgear—it was the helmet of Mandalore, thought to be lost since the Mandalorian Wars when Revan squirreled it away to prevent the Mandalorians from rallying together and rising up again after their defeat. “I’ve been busy. Made friends with another Jedi for a time. An exile, she said she was. I’m guessing you know her, and the fact that she’s on the lookout for Revan as well as you are.” Bastila nodded slowly.

“Why didn’t you contact the Exile instead of me?” She asked, deactivating her saber and fixing it back to her belt. She knew from Carth that Canderous had galavanted for a time with the Exile, and it was enough of a time that she realized that Canderous might have mixed loyalties between the two of them.

“Because the thing that Revan hid here is a family matter. Between you and him,” Canderous said, and reached into a pouch on his belt, withdrawing—

“A holocron,” Bastila breathed, taking it from Canderous. She looked back up at him. “How did you know that it was here?”

“He told me. After he retrieved the helm of Mandalore, he told me that he was leaving, and that I couldn’t follow him. But he told me that he had stowed a holocron on Jedha for his son. Your son. He told me that I should tell you when the time was right, and that I’d know when that was,” Canderous explained, as Bastila turned over the holocron in her hands. The cube glowed with a faint blue light and seemed almost warm to the touch.

“How did you know when to tell me?”

“I received a message about a week ago. It was a time-delayed message from Revan that said only two words: ‘It’s time.’ So here we are, and there it is,” Canderous said, nodding to the holocron in Bastila’s hands. Bastila was suddenly overwhelmed by emotion as she clutched the holocron between her palms, feeling its energy, and sensing Revan’s touch on its surface… She wiped at her eyes, ensuring that no tears fell. Not in front of Canderous. Before her, Candeorus tilted his head and then reached for his blaster pistol on his belt.“We’re not alone out here,” he growled, scanning the environment. Bastila grasped her lightsaber hilt, but didn’t activate it yet, instead waiting for whatever was out there to reveal itself.

“It’s me. Don’t shoot,” the Exile appeared from beyond the lip of the ridge, hands raised in the air. A light breeze tousled her hair and kicked up sand from the ground that prompted the Exile to shield her eyes with one hand.

“Exile,” Canderous exclaimed. Bastila noted a hint of amusement. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Why did you approach? I had everything under control,” Bastila said, irritated. Couldn’t the Exile see when she wasn’t needed?

“I recognized Mandalore. Or… Canderous,” the Exile said, approaching. Canderous holstered his blaster pistol once more and extended a hand. The Exile took it, and the two of them leaned in to exchange a rough embrace, Candeorus patting the Exile fondly on the back.

“It’s good to see you again. I wanted to let you know that the last crew of Mandalorians you found in the Mid Rim ended up on Dxun and are settling in with the rest of the group. Thanks for sending them my way,” Canderous said. The Exile smiled.

“Of course. Now, what’s this about a holocron?” The Exile asked, looking at Bastila, who still had her lightsaber in one hand and the holocron in the other. Bastila stowed her saber, but held the holocron close.

“It’s a family matter. Canderous said that Revan left this behind for my son,” she explained.

“Now that you’re both here, I wanted to talk to you both a bit more about Revan. Since you both seem intent on finding the man. When Revan assisted me in reclaiming the helm of Mandalore, he discovered a datacron with information on a planet called Nathema. He told me not to go with him, but to restore the Mandalorians to their former glory, so I began on that path. And then I met you, Exile,” Canderous explained. Bastila made a face.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before now? I could have been doing something. Finding him. But you waited until years later?” Bastila said, an accusing tone in her voice. Canderous considered her, silent for a moment.

“Bastila, you’re the same as ever. You were pregnant when Revan left, remember? I didn’t want to place the burden of this on you when you were just becoming a mother. Then I also supposed I should wait until Revan’s message to reveal the holocron, as was his command. And like I said back then, I’d follow Revan and his orders until I’m dead,” Canderous said, turning to the Exile. “What do you think about this? I’d never even heard of Nathema before Revan discovered it.”

“I don’t know,” the Exile said, biting her lip. She looked up at Canderous, then at Bastila. “But I do know that I will have to take the next steps of the journey to find Revan on my own.” Bastila scoffed.

“As if I’d let him go a second time. I’m coming with you to Nathema,” she said.

“We can’t go yet, anyway. Don’t you sense it? It’s not time. We have to continue to heal the Order until the time is right,” the Exile said. Bastila sighed. The Exile was right. The Order was still in a shambles, with its former members scattered to the ends of the galaxy and the up-and-coming members still young and only half-trained.

“I… sense it, too,” Bastila admitted. “Thank you for your assistance, Canderous. And for the holocron.” Canderous nodded.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “Exile, when you find Revan, tell him… tell him that his old friend is carrying out his will, and the Mandalorians will be strong when the threat beyond the Outer Rim makes itself known.”

“I will,” the Exile said, and stepped forward to give Canderous another awkward embrace in farewell. Bastila decided that a handshake was more suitable, shaking Canderous’s gloved hand firmly.

“Take care of yourselves, Jedi. You know where to find me,” he said, and with one last nod of goodbye, he activated his stealth generator and dissolved into shadow. Bastila stowed the holocron in her bag and then turned to the Exile.

“Ready to head back?” She asked, hands on her hips.

“I suppose so. I’ll contact Atton,” the Exile said, and brought her wrist comm up to her face to speak into it as Bastila readied her speeder for the return trip. “Atton, come in. Everything is fine. We met with Canderous, and we’re going to start heading back now. You can go ahead and take your speeder to the spaceport and ready the _Hawk_ —I’ll hitch a ride with Bastila.” She waited for a response.

“Roger that. You sure you want to ride with Miss Prissy? I can assure you, it’s much more fun to ride with me,” Atton said, his voice slightly garbled with static.

“That’s okay. I’ll manage,” the Exile said, chuckling.

“Suit yourself. See you back at the ship,” Atton said, and the comm cut out as he terminated his transmission.

“Ready to go yet, or still chatting with your lover?” Bastila asked, her bluntness causing the Exile to flush a shade as red as the Jedha dirt.

“I’m ready,” the Exile said, climbing onto the speeder behind Bastila. “Let’s get going.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update--college courses have me busy. 
> 
> From here on out, I'll be departing heavily from the old canon with the Exile and Revan and such, if you haven't ascertained that yet. While some details will remain simply for future continuity (in later, SWTOR-era planned works I may or may not get around to), a good deal of it will simply be made up by yours truly for purposes of self-indulgent angst, romance, and drama.


End file.
